


Sugar Storm

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged up characters, Cheating, GONE GIRL AU, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Keith is sassy as fuck, Lance goes missing, M/M, Murder Mystery, Shiro is a murder suspect, Smut, There's lots of blood, Unfortunate anniversary shenanigans, and dicks, broganes, like WAAAY up lol they're in their late 20's-30's, tbh this would probably be a better read if you knew absolutely nothing about gone girl, wow look at all those warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When I think of my husband, I always think of his head. I picture cracking his lovely skull, unspooling his brains, trying to get answers. The primal questions of any marriage: what are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?Takashi Shirogane has an ordinary life; he's a creative writing professor, owns a bar with his brother, has a beautiful cat and loves coffee. And of course he has his extraordinary husband, Lance McClain Shirogane, America's favorite grown-up golden child with blue eyes and a perfect smile. They're the happiest couple anyone could think of, going on five years married and seven years together.But when Lance vanishes on the morning of their fifth anniversary, leaving behind only blood splattered on the kitchen cabinets and three envelopes all marked 'clue', no one can help but realize that all signs point to Shiro.





	1. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au is going to be based off the movie, not the book, for no particular reason other than I don't feel like rereading the book.
> 
> Also if you haven't seen gone girl this fic will be much more enjoyable, but if you have then I'm sure you can still enjoy it
> 
> (also the first chapter is just diary entries, the rest of the fic isn't in first person POV only the diary entries are we swear)
> 
> Anyway, we really hope you guys enjoy and let us know what you think in the comments below!

**January 18th, 2011**

I’ve said in the past I don’t believe in love at first sight, but today I met a really hot dude and I think my opinion is changing. 

It happened when I was walking to stats, texting Meredith about what we were gonna have for dinner tonight. And because I was looking at my phone and not in front of me, I ran straight into a very broad and very muscular chest. 

Papers flew everywhere. It was like a storm of paper, and we were caught in the middle. I didn’t get a glimpse of the person’s face as I practically fell to the floor, tripping over my words as I tried to apologize for the mess I made. Once I had gotten the papers in hand, having totally forgotten whether Meredith and I had decided on Italian or Chinese, I finally looked up to face the owner of the very broad and very muscular chest. 

And, well, not to be dramatic but… I swear the world stopped. 

He had dark eyes. That was the first thing I noticed about him. Eyes as dark as the night sky, accented by thick, black eyebrows and a large scar running horizontally across his nose. His hair matched his brows, except for a shock of white hair at the front of his face. Other than this, he had the jawline of a Greek God (and the build of one too) and it was all pulled together by the kindest smile I’d ever seen. 

It was only after he asked if I was okay did I realize I’d been gaping at him for a good minute and a half. Once I was shocked out of my frozen state, our conversation went a little something like this:

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m really sorry again for running into you,” I managed to stutter out. “But with muscles like those, I’m pretty sure it would take someone a lot bigger than me to knock you down,” I added, probably with burning cheeks. 

The guy stared at me for a moment, before I saw a bit of rose tinge his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Then he smiled at me and said, “T-Thank you. I wish I could stay and talk, but I have to get going, I’m late for my class.” And with that, he hurried past me and out of my life. 

After that, I went to class but didn’t hear a thing the teacher was saying. Our meeting couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes, but I’ve been thinking about him all day. I’ll probably never see him again, but at least I can say I now have experienced one of life’s most treasured experiences: love at first sight. 

~

**February 4th, 2011**

I am so crazy, stupid happy.

I saw him again tonight. The man I’ve been thinking about for weeks. Meredith told me I was crazy, but I had a feeling fate would somehow bring us together again. I just had this feeling- I don’t know how to explain it without feeling like a cheesy dumbass, you know, but I knew I’d ran into this man for a reason. That our meeting was somehow meant to be.

We weren’t reunited under the most romantic of circumstances admittedly. We were just at some dorm party, the ones that usually happened on Friday nights, most of us drunk off our asses. I’d hardly drank half a beer and hadn’t planned to have much more, which was fortunate since the guy of my dreams would tap me on the shoulder, and his eyes would be so intoxicating.

I learned that his name is Takashi and that he’s too polite for his own good. He came and apologized for our unfortunate meeting- something that was without a doubt my fault, but fucking hell this man has a heart of gold -and didn’t leave my side for the rest of the night. Not that I was complaining, obviously- when the hunk I’ve been daydreaming about like a lovesick teenager all week wants to compliment my eyeshadow and sweet talk me all night, I’m all in.

God, I might as well just say it- I was enchanted by him. I learned Takashi, or Shiro, as he insisted I call him, was a war veteran, explaining the prosthetic arm and his hair and the scar across his nose. That he’s a hero. I also learned that he’s a huge dork who loves cats and coffee and writing stories. We talked about our writing, we talked about our pets, we talked about anything and everything under the sun, and he said he’d take me out on Valentine’s Day.

I’m so happy I don’t even know what to do with myself. I’m crazy about a boy and I don’t give a shit how stereotypical that is. Now the only thing left to do is do the impossible. 

Keep my excitement contained as I wait for our date. 

~

**February 15th, 2011**

So I think it’s safe to say that was the best post-date blowjob I’ve ever had. 

Oh, also the date went amazingly too. 

Shiro was at my apartment to pick me up right at 7 pm, a bouquet of red roses tucked under his arm like the true romantic he is. He’s the dream man of every teenage girl and sexually-confused guy out there. He’s kind, chivalrous, romantic as fuck, and as I have said before, is comparable to a Greek God. 

He took me to a small Italian restaurant not far from our school. I had never been there before, but everyone seemed to know Shiro. We didn’t even have to say a word to the hostess before she was getting us a table. 

They got us wine without either of us ordering it. It was white wine (my preferred kind), and the waiter didn’t even ask for my ID as he poured my glass. Once the waiter left us with our menus and I began to sip at my wine, I asked Shiro if he came here often as everyone seemed to know who he was. He blushed and explained that he actually was a waiter there himself, and all the staff knew he was bringing a date there that night. 

He seemed pretty embarrassed about it but I found it adorable. Plus, it secured us a pretty good table and the best service on Valentine’s Day, making the date all the more enjoyable. Not to mention, the food was to die for. 

Conversation between us is so easy. Everything just flows so well. We talked about our days, complained about roommates, exchanged stories from our childhood, etc. We joked with one another, jumping from one lighthearted subject to the next with a type of ease one normally associates with couples who had been together for years. 

It was over my second glass of wine and my fourth bite of ravioli that I knew I was going to fall in love with this man.

After our meal, we were walking back to my apartment, the conversation still as easy as it could be between us, when we passed a bakery and Shiro stopped. A smile grew on his face as he grabbed my hand, and told me there was something I had to see. Walking into the alley next to the bakery, I saw that it was men delivering sacks of some kind of ingredient to the back of the store. There was a cloud of white powder in the air, and when I went to lick my lips I realized it was powdered sugar. I looked over to Shiro and saw his face was covered in it, and realized mine probably looked the same. 

“You’re covered in sugar,” I said while laughing. 

Shiro ran a hand through his hair and saw that his hand was covered in the powder. He laughed too. “It’s a sugar storm,” he said. I thought to myself how this was the second time we’d been caught in a storm together. A soft smile then grew on his face as he looked at me. “May I kiss you, Lance?” He asked quietly, the blush on his cheeks visible through the sugar. 

“Well, it would be a shame to let me go through a sugar storm unkissed,” I said back. 

Shiro’s soft smile turned into a full-on grin, and he leaned closer to me. Pausing, he reached up, and gently brushed some of the sugar off my lips so he could taste me. Then, his lips met mine, and everything was sweet.  
After that damn near magical first kiss, I learned that not only does Shiro look like a god, but that he is a god in bed. I won’t go into too much detail just in case Meredith decides to go snooping (and if you are reading this Meredith: fuck off), but Shiro certainly knows how to use his mouth. 

He spent the night, and this morning I woke to the smell of pancakes (of course it’s fucking pancakes, how much more cliche romantic can you get?) floating in the air. Shiro and I had breakfast at Meredith and I’s pathetic excuse for a kitchen table (thankfully Meredith was off at that bumbling idiot Hachiro’s apartment for the night), and we played footsie under the table in between bites of the best pancakes I’ve ever had. 

After we finished eating though, Shiro told me he had to go as he had class. He kissed me once more, and promised to text me later that day. 

And you know what? I have no doubt that he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance is a SPICY BOI
> 
> so those were the first couple of lance's diary entries about love and sugar storms and sexytimes and in the next chapter (which is gonna be uploaded like 10 minutes after this one) you get to learn about ~domestic shance life~
> 
> kinda


	2. The Day Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT SO NOW ONTO THE ACTUAL STORY
> 
> This fic will be interspersed with Lance's diary entries, but will mainly be the actual story at hand. 
> 
> I don't have much to add from the last notes except that this fic takes place in 2018 so if you're reading in the future hi welcome to the past. I'm watching the Oscars right now and am kinda distracted so maybe vallraiene will have something better to add here (if you guys read any of my other fics you know my notes are shitposts so)
> 
> anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

**July 5th, 2018**

_When I think of my husband, I always think of his head. I picture cracking his lovely skull, unspooling his brains, trying to get answers. The primal questions of any marriage: what are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?_

“You’re late for your shift,” Keith declared as Shiro walked through the doors of the bar. As always, the first thing Shiro noticed when he stepped through the doors of The Bar (that was the literal name, they weren’t very creative) was the smell. 

There’s a permanent smell that seems to come with bars, depending on the type of crowd the bar itself seems to get. For The Bar, the crowd was typically either unemployed drunkards or students from the community college who didn’t have the money to go to an actual nightclub. Thus, The Bar tended to smell like cigarettes and weed, and that was what Shiro smelled when he walked through the doors on That Morning. 

“It’s my fifth wedding anniversary, I don’t work today,” Shiro shot back as he sat down on a barstool in front of his brother. 

“Oh, you mean the fifth anniversary of me wanting you to get a divorce?” Keith asked with a raised brow. 

Shiro sighed deeply. “He’s not that bad, Keith.”

The raised brow went up further. “Uh huh, just keep telling yourself that,” Keith said, turning around to grab the bourbon he knew Shiro preferred. “So, is Lance doing one of his special ‘treasure hunts’ again this year?” He asked as he poured both himself and Shiro a glass. 

Shiro took a grateful sip of the drink before he answered. “Like he always does,” he said in a rather unenthusiastic tone. “They used to be fun. Like our first year, the theme was paper. He got me tickets to go see a band I liked, and I got us plane tickets so we could go visit his family in Cuba for a few days. But then it got worse. Like for last year, flowers, the treasure hunt led me outside to a dying rose bush.”

“How symbolic,” Keith deadpanned.

“Yup.” Shiro said, popping the ‘p’ as he took another sip of his drink. 

“What’s the anniversary theme this year?” Keith asked, resting his elbows on the bar. 

“Wood,” Shiro said, rolling his eyes. “I have no fucking clue what to do for wood.” 

“I know what you can do,” Keith started. “Go home, fuck his brains out, slap him with your dick. There’s some wood for you, you pretentious cunt.” 

Shiro blinked a few times, but before he could even attempt to formulate a response to that, the phone next to the register rang, and Keith was moving to get it. Shiro tapped his fingers against his glass as Keith spoke, then suddenly he was being handed the phone. 

“Uh, hello?” He asked, giving Keith a confused look. 

“Hey, Shiro! It’s Delilah, from next door? I was just calling because I saw your cat wandering around your driveway. I tried calling over there, but your husband wasn’t picking up the phone.”

Shiro blinked. “Oh, uh, thanks Delilah. I’ll be right over,” he hung up the phone and turned to Keith. “Blue got out again, and I guess Lance didn’t hear the phone ringing. He’s probably taking a bath or something so I gotta go get her.”

Keith rolled his eyes and took a large swig of his bourbon. “Have fun.” He said in his usual dead tone. 

Shiro waved goodbye as he stepped out of the bar and into the cool morning air. 

About ten minutes later he was pulling up into the curved driveway to his house. The sun had risen, bathing his McMansion in the glow of the morning light. Putting the car into park, Shiro turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, eyes scanning his front yard for any sign of Blue. 

It didn’t take long to spot her, her deep black fur standing out like a sore thumb against the candy green grass. She was sniffing at a flower in front of one of the windows, and Shiro breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t gone too far. 

“Hey sweetie, how did you get out?” Shiro asked the cat as he approached her. She glanced up at him, her yellow eyes wide as she let out a happy meow. Shiro scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the front door, which for some reason was slightly ajar, and put her down as soon as the door shut behind him. 

“Hey, Lance, it’s me!” Shiro called out, knowing his husband would be startled by the sound of the door slamming when he had thought Shiro was out. When no response came, Shiro frowned and walked into the kitchen, wondering if Lance was there. He scanned the kitchen, and when he saw nothing out of the ordinary, turned to leave. Though when his eyes fell on the living room he froze.

The coffee table, the one they had brought from their New York apartment that Lance had loved so much, was flipped on its side, all the glass that had once made up its surface shattered into a thousand crystals on the ground. The ottoman was flipped over as well, and a small armchair was on its back. 

The watchful neighbor from across the street, Delilah Nguyen, would later report hearing a slightly panicked, “LANCE!” come from the Shirogane house. In retrospect, she’d say she wasn’t sure if it was genuine or not. 

~

**February 24th, 2013**

Lovable _fucking_ Lance is getting _fucking married._

Naturally, there needed to be a party for him. A real party with real adults and real alcohol and very real reporters just clambering to meet the real Lovable Lance. All for a fictional character. It’s fucking ridiculous, that’s what it is. Thankfully I had Shiro there to save me from the pain of it all. It still sucked, but with him at my arm, it sucked just a little less. 

We arrived at the party fashionably late, and I immediately noticed we were two of the only people not dressed in white. There were display cases with all the Lovable Lance books littered throughout the party as decorations, showcasing all the times my parents were disappointed with the real me in childhood and decided to write about the fake me instead. 

Shiro and I went over to look at one of the displays. This one was talking about the time Lovable Lance learned the violin. 

“I quit the violin when I was 12,” I said to Shiro as our gazes dragged over the cartoon drawings of Lovable Lance and his violin. “Lovable Lance was a prodigy.”

“You were on the swim team?” Shiro asked as we approached the next display. 

“I didn’t make the team freshman year. He made varsity.” I said, glaring at the cartoon teenager. 

We went to the next display. “I’m guessing you weren’t valedictorian like he was?” Shiro asked.

“I had one B+,” I said through gritted teeth. 

And suddenly, Shiro’s hand was on my arm and I felt the tension in my shoulders loosen slightly. “No offense but your parents are kind of assholes,” he whispered into my ear. 

“Believe me, I’m aware,” I shot back, rolling my eyes at the display. 

We walked to the display in the center of the room, the one talking about Lovable Lance’s wedding day. The cartoon version of him smiled in a suit, a beautiful cartoon woman in a wedding gown on his arm. It wasn’t a surprise that Lovable Lance was marrying a woman when I, the real Lance, have been dating a man for two years. While my parents are fully accepting of me dating both men and women, just as most people in the world these days are, there’s still the small, underlying hope that I end up marrying a woman. So, just like always, Lovable Lance fulfilled that hope. 

Of course, they claimed Lovable Lance was marrying a woman to keep him more relatable to readers, but we all know that’s bullshit. 

“Why aren’t you wearing white like we talked about?” I heard my mother ask out of nowhere. Turning around, I saw her smiling at me and Shiro as she approached. 

“I mean, I kinda figured that’d be a bit creepy,” I explained. My mother just rolled her eyes and looked to Shiro. 

“Hi Shiro, it’s good to see you again,” my mother said to my boyfriend instead of arguing with me. 

“It’s wonderful to see you too, Maria,” Shiro greeted her, ever the gentleman. 

“Lance, there are some reporters who want to speak to you. They’re waiting for you over there if you wouldn’t mind?” My mother asked, gesturing to a table full of expectant journalists. I gritted my teeth again and just nodded, and waited for her to get out of earshot. 

“I know I shouldn’t complain because this is the reason I have my apartment and my trust fund, but I really fucking hate Lovable Lance,” I whispered into Shiro’s ear. 

Shiro squeezed my hands and smiled at me. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Just do what Maria asks and we’ll be out of here in no time.” It’s funny how I immediately felt better after just that tiny bit of reassurance. Somehow, Shiro knows just what to say to calm me down when I feel like I’m going to explode. 

A few minutes later I found myself talking to reporters. They were peppering me with all the expected questions: what has it been like to grow up with these books? Are you married yet? Are you seeing anyone? Etc etc.

“So, Lance, since you’re not married, is it difficult for you to be seeing Lovable Lance getting married before you?” One of them asked me at one point. 

“Well, I guess you could say I’ve gotten used to it at this point. It’s no secret that Lovable Lance has always been one step ahead of me.” I answered, trying not to let the bitterness of my words show through. 

Then, he was there again. Shiro slid into the seat nearest to me and pulled out a notebook and pen. 

“Oh. Hey you,” I said, smiling at him. 

“Uh, Mr. McClain I hope you don’t mind having one more reporter interviewing you. I just simply have to get this scoop,” he said with a playful look in his eyes. 

I smirked. “I suppose I can make an exception for you, Mr. Shirogane.” The other reporters were staring at us in confusion, but I didn’t bother explaining. If this flirting went on, they’d catch on soon enough. 

“Great,” Shiro said, clicking his pen. “So are you seeing anyone as of this moment?”

“Yes, I’m seeing the wonderful Takashi Shirogane.”

“And you’ve been dating Takashi Shirogane for how long?”

“Two amazing years,” I replied. 

“Well, it’s been amazing for me too. Lance, you know you’re my best friend and the man of my dreams. You’re amazingly funny, witty, and you challenge me every day. And, for those voracious readers who have to know, you have a world class dick,” this sparked a few startled laughs from the reporters watching us. “And it is to my understanding that you are still unmarried?” He continued. 

My next response was a little slower as I began to catch on to what he was doing. “Yes… yes I am.”

Shiro smiled as he reached for my hand, and pulled a ring out of his pocket. “Would you like to change that?”

The reporters beside us gasped as a chorus of ‘aww’s’ broke out from the table, and I felt like my cheeks were splitting I was smiling so much. “I would love to,” I said. 

Shiro’s grin widened as he slid the ring onto my finger, and I laughed as I leaned over and kissed him hard. 

Lovable Lance isn’t so far ahead anymore.

~

A police car, the first of what would later become many, many police cars, drove up the Shirogane driveway at around 10 am that morning. Neighbors watched as a man in a police uniform and a woman in a business suit stepped out of the vehicle. The two were practically polar opposites. Standing about a good foot shorter than the man, the woman had a petite figure, pale skin, and short, mousey brown hair, which contrasted sharply with the man’s dark skin, looming figure, and long, dark hair tied back with a bright orange headband. 

The two walked up to the front door, and the woman rapped a series of sharp knocks on the door. The duo heard footsteps behind the door, and it suddenly opened. 

“Takashi Shirogane?” The man at the door nodded. “I’m Detective Pidge Holt, and this is Officer Hunk Garrett. We were called here because you were concerned about your husband?” 

Shiro nodded again. “Yeah, here, uh, come on in. You kinda need to see this,” he said, gesturing for them to come inside. Pidge and Hunk stepped into the house, and Shiro led them to the coffee table.

“I was out this morning when I got a call from my neighbor saying my cat was outside. When I came home to put the cat back in, I saw the front door was open. Then I went inside and found this,” he said, gesturing to the broken glass. “And now I can’t find my husband. I’m not one to panic easily, but this is kinda weird, right?”

Pidge pursed her lips while narrowing her eyes, and pushed her glasses up with her finger. “It definitely is. Given the spike in drug-related crimes that have happened recently, we’re going to be taking this very seriously. Do you mind if we take a look around the house, Mr. Shirogane?” 

“By all means,” Shiro said. 

A few minutes later, Shiro was leading them on a tour through the house. 

“This is a beautiful house,” Pidge said. “How long have you guys lived here?” She asked as they went up the stairs. 

“About three years. We used to live in New York City,” Shiro explained. “We were both writers. We moved back here when my mother got sick.” 

“Oh, geez. How is she now?” Hunk asked. 

“She’s dead.” 

“Oh. I-I’m sorry.”

They got to the top of the stairs and Shiro led them into the bedroom. The bed was perfectly made as always, with all the pillows and blankets organized like they’d been taken straight out of a catalog. Pidge looked around, pulling a glove onto the hand not holding her coffee, while Hunk stayed in the doorway. 

“What do you do for work?” She asked, her gaze traveling around the room. 

“I own The Bar downtown with my brother. Other than that I work as a creative writing professor at the community college,” Shiro said. 

Pidge looked pleasantly surprised at that. “The Bar. Huh. Cool name. I’ll have to visit sometime.” She stepped out of the room and Shiro closed the door behind them and followed. Pidge walked down the hall, her large eyes narrowing once more as she spotted a blue suit laid out on an ironing board. 

“Date night?” Hunk asked while Pidge unplugged the still hot iron. 

Shiro scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. It’s our anniversary.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at that. “How long?” She asked. 

“Five years.” 

She let out an impressed hum. “Congrats,” she said, though Shiro could tell she didn’t fully mean it. 

They made their way back downstairs, and Shiro walked them into the kitchen. “And here’s the kitchen as you guys can see…” he trailed off when he noticed Pidge staring intently at something. Her gaze locked onto a spot above the stove, and Shiro only then saw she was looking at an odd little splatter of red on the white paint. It was small, hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it. 

And this was the kind of thing Pidge was looking for. 

Pidge pulled out a yellow sticky note and pasted it right next to the red stain. Wordlessly, she headed into the office. 

“This is Lance’s office,” Shiro felt the need to explain as they stepped inside. Pidge looked around, her hawk-eyed gaze as steely as ever behind her huge glasses. She let out a low whistle as she noticed the multitude of degrees hung on the wall.

“Smart man,” Hunk commented. 

“Yeah, he’s pretty impressive,” Shiro said absently. Pidge continued to sweep her gaze around the room, and when it fell on the Lovable Lance shrine, her eyes lit up with recognition. 

“Lovable Lance! I loved these books as a kid!” She exclaimed, walking over to the shelf. Leaning down, she peered at the parallel photos. One being young Lance playing the violin, and the other being the drawing of Lovable Lance doing the same. Pidge’s eyes widened. “Your husband is Lovable Lance?” 

“Yup. Sure is.” Shiro said. Hunk gasped from beside him. 

Pidge gave him an impressed look, mouthing a ‘wow’ to herself before moving on. Pidge and Hunk continued to look through the rest of the house with Shiro following awkwardly behind, and once the entire property had been cleared Pidge declared that Shiro needed to head down to the police station with them for further questioning. Shiro went without complaint. 

The police station wasn’t terribly small, but it wasn’t terribly large either. Not much happened in their rather average Missouri town, and the police station reflected that. The rooms were coldly lit with fluorescent lights that flickered every so often, and officers and investigators bustled about the halls, coffees in hand as they all went about their days. Pidge led Shiro to a small office and he was seated at a metal table in the center of the room across from her and Hunk.

There was a flurry of activity the moment he got there. Specialists were swabbing his fingers, his mouth, taking his fingerprints, taking samples of his hair. Any DNA he had on him, they wanted in their system. Once the fifth swab had been taken off his normal hand, the last of the specialists left the room, leaving Shiro alone with Pidge and Hunk once more. 

“So, Takashi- do you mind if I call you that?” Pidge asked. 

“Most people call me Shiro, actually,” Shiro explained. 

Pidge nodded and pushed her glasses further up on her nose. “Shiro, got it. So Shiro, firstly, would you like to call a lawyer and have them present with you while we talk?” 

Shiro shook his head. “I don’t need one. I just want to help.” Hunk grinned at him, and Shiro shot him a weak smile back. 

Pidge nodded. “Alright then. We want to get an idea of what your husband may have been doing before his disappearance. Possibly retrace his steps if we’re able to. So you said you guys had been living here for three years?” Pidge questioned. 

“Yup.”

“And you work at The Bar and the community college. What about Lance? Does he have a job?”

“No, we both lost our jobs in the recession which is another part of the reason why we moved out here. I was able to get The Bar and my community college gig, but Lance ended up staying home.”

Pidge hummed and jotted that down in a notepad. “What does your husband do all day then? A guy with all those degrees?”

Shiro’s brows furrowed as he tried to think of what Lance did. He knew he cleaned a lot- that’s how the house always looked like it was straight out of a shopping magazine- but other than that… what did he do? He read books a lot, Shiro knew that. He sometimes baked for local charity drives. Or at least Shiro knew he did that once. Maybe he did it again? 

“Well, he reads a lot. I hardly ever see him without a book in his hand. I also know he baked cookies for a charity drive thing once, but I’m not sure how long ago that was. Other than that… I think that’s about it actually. That and cleaning at least.”

“That’s all he does?” Hunk asked, raising an eyebrow at Shiro. 

Shiro coughed uncomfortably. “I think.”

Hunk and Pidge both looked suspicious, but Shiro didn’t know what to say. After a moment of tense silence, Pidge forged on. “What about friends? Does Lance have any friends he hangs out with?”

Lance used to have friends back in New York. Back when everything seemed so much simpler between them, before everything in their marriage went to hell. In New York, Lance fit in. He was a New York native and would discuss things like fine wine and quote things in Latin and learn the art of French cuisine just for the hell of it. And his socialite friends did much of the same. But in Missouri where the most complicated cooking got was casseroles, and the only quotes people knew were from the Bible, Lance stood out like a sore thumb. 

To put it bluntly, people saw him as kind of a pretentious asshole. 

“He… well, he’s from New York,” Shiro said, laughing awkwardly. “Lance is complicated, and people don’t take to him too easily.”

“So he doesn’t have very many friends?” Pidge asked.

“No, he doesn’t really have, uh, any friends.” Shiro managed to stammer out. 

Hunk and Pidge seemed even more confused by this, and Shiro’s gaze fell to the floor. The only sound in the room was Pidge’s pen scratching on her notepad, and after a moment, that fell quiet too. “What’s Lance’s blood type, Shiro? Since there was evidence of what seemed to be a struggle in your home, we’re gonna need Lance’s blood type on record in case we find anything else.” 

“I-uh, I don’t know his blood type.”

Pidge blinked. “You don’t know your own husband's blood type?” Shiro opened his mouth to respond but didn’t know what to say. He and Lance never had any reason to discuss blood types. Neither of them had ever been in an accident where it was relevant information. Before he could respond, Pidge was talking again. 

“You don’t know what your husband does all day, you don’t know if he has friends, and you don’t even know his blood type?” Pidge asked, frowning at him. 

“Are you sure you two are married?” Hunk added, his laugh indicating it was a joke but his tone indicating it wasn’t. 

“We just never discussed it!” Shiro exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. 

Pidge sighed and closed her notepad. “Fine, we’ll get it from his medical records,” she said, pulling a phone out of her pocket. “We’re going to have a press conference for Lance tomorrow so we can get the word out. You know, in case anyone sees him or something. Do you think Lance’s parents can make it here by then?” 

“Um, I’m not sure. I haven’t even told them Lance is missing yet.”

“You haven’t even told his parents yet?” Hunk asked, giving him an incredulous look. 

Shiro was really starting to get sick of all the judgement these two cops seemed to be passing onto him. “When do you think I would’ve had the chance to? I don’t get service in this building and I’ve been sitting here talking to you guys this whole time!” 

“There’s a phone right over there. Go call his parents!” Pidge ordered, pointing to a wall phone outside the office. 

Shiro held his hands up in mock surrender and made his way out of the office, pushing through the bustling station workers to try and get to the wall phone. 

As soon as the door to the office had closed, Hunk looked to Pidge with wide eyes. 

“Am I supposed to know my wife’s blood type?” He asked in a small voice. 

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Jesus Hunk, no! You’re fine!” 

Once Shiro reached the phone, he dialed Maria’s number, knowing she would almost certainly pick up. She was the type of person who answered her phone no matter who was calling her, even if it was most likely a telemarketer. She never wanted to miss out on what could be a lucrative business offer or someone reporting good news. 

In this case, Shiro was reporting bad news. 

The phone rang once, twice, three times, before- “Hello?”

“Maria? It’s Shiro,” 

“Oh, hi Shiro! How have you been? We haven’t talked to you in forever. In fact we were just talking about giving you and Lance a call to check up on you guys and see how you’re both doing out there-”

“Actually, Maria, I’m calling you from a police station right now. It’s… it’s about Lance.”

Maria had gone silent on the other end. “...what’s wrong, Shiro?”

“He’s…” Shiro took a breath. “He’s gone missing. Just this morning.”

It was quiet for a few seconds. “He’s missing?!” Maria screeched into his ear, causing him to wince. “And you only just called us now? In the evening?!” 

“Maria, I’m sorry, I’ve been stuck talking to police all morning and haven’t gotten a chance to call you guys yet-” he was cut off by a rapid-fire string of Spanish swear words, and he suspected Maria was talking to Lance’s father, John. Just then, Pidge walked up, and when she noticed his struggles, gave him a concerned look. 

“Maria- Maria _please._ I’m here with Detective Holt right now. She’s the one leading the investigation into Lance-”

“Let me talk to her,” Maria cut him off. 

Shiro, knowing better than to argue with Lance’s mother, turned to Pidge and held the phone out. “She wants to speak with you.”

Pidge carefully took the phone, as if it was a snake that would bite her at any moment, and brought it up to her ear. 

“Hello… yes, I am the one in charge… like your son-in-law said, we have been talking with him all morning… we’re having a press conference tomorrow and I wanted to know if you and your husband could be here for it… yes…” Shiro wandered a bit away from the phone when it seemed like Pidge wasn’t going to stop talking anytime soon, and looked around the station absently. 

Suddenly, and quite unfortunately, he heard a familiar, grating voice. 

“None of you goddamn kooks know what the fuck you’re doing!” 

Turning around, Shiro saw the door to the station lobby swing open. Glancing in, he saw none other than his father standing beside the desk, arms crossed and expression twisted as if he had just sucked on a lemon. 

“Dad?” Shiro asked, stepping out of the station and into the lobby. 

The woman working behind the counter glanced up. “Wait, are you Takashi Shirogane?” Shiro nodded. “Jesus Christ, we’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. We found him wandering on the side of the highway.”

“I-I don’t get cell service in this building, but I’ve been right in there the whole time,” Shiro said, gesturing to the offices behind him. “Why didn’t you call my brother?” 

“We talked to him but he said he was busy at work and couldn’t leave. So we’ve been trying to contact you.” The woman said, giving him a pointed look. 

Shiro took a deep breath and clenched his fist. He was sick of everyone giving him accusing glares and judging him for things he ‘should’ve’ done or known. It had been a long day, and his patience was wearing thin. “I’m sorry ma’am, but like I said, I get no service in this building. But how did you not realize I was right in there the entire time?” 

“Sir, please don’t use that tone with me.”

Shiro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was about to shoot off a retort that would definitely not make him look good to the police when Pidge’s voice floated through the lobby. 

“Shiro, what’s going on?” She asked, hanging in the doorway. 

“My father. He escaped his nursing home apparently,” Shiro explained. From behind, he heard his father mutter something along the lines of ‘stupid dumb bitch’. He wasn’t sure who he was referring to, but it didn’t matter to Shiro. 

Pidge gave him a sympathetic look, the first one she had given him all day, and adjusted her glasses. “We’re pretty much done here tonight, so you can take him back. We wanna have forensics run through your place though, so is there anywhere you can stay for the next few nights?”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, I can stay at my brother's place.” 

“Great. I’ll call you tomorrow about the press conference. Try to get some sleep tonight, alright?” 

Shiro nodded again and gave a small wave as he took his father by the arm, and led him out of the station. Pidge waved back, then closed the door as she made her way back to her office. 

The drive to his father’s nursing home was silent, as expected. Shiro and his father didn’t speak much these days. Shiro’s father had already been an unpleasant man when he Shiro was a child, and now that there was the added fact that he barely even remembered who Shiro was, so naturally there wasn’t a lot of conversation between them. 

Thankfully the nursing home wasn’t far, and soon enough Shiro had one less passenger in his car. As he drove, air conditioner blasting and the radio playing softly in the background, Shiro reached into his glove box and pulled out a cheap flip phone. Flipping it open, Shiro found the number he wanted, and pressed call, holding the phone up to his ear as he passed by street light after street light. 

The phone rang, and rang, and rang some more, but there was no answer. Shiro cursed and put the phone back, and turned the radio up as he made his way to Keith’s house. 

By the time he arrived Keith was already waiting in the kitchen, two beers in hand as he watched something on his phone. 

“Hi Keith,” Shiro greeted as he closed the front door, letting out a tired sigh. 

“Hey,” Keith replied, taking a sip of his beer. “How did everything go?”

Shiro walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up the beer Keith had opened for him. He took a long swig of it, before letting out a breath and leaning against the counter. “Police are crawling all over my house, I got questioned for several hours, Maria probably hates me, and Dad escaped again. Thanks for that by the way,”

“Shiro, I was in the middle of happy hour and in case you forgot, you’re literally the only other person who works there that knows how to tend the bar,” Keith explained. 

“Yeah, well in case _you_ forgot, I was getting interrogated about the fact that my husband is fucking missing!” Shiro snapped. Keith blinked at that, unsure of how to respond. After a moment, Shiro sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’ve just had a god-awful day and I’m really stressed out right now.”

Keith shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “You’re fine. You’re dealing with pretty much everyone’s worst nightmare right now, so I get that you’re stressed. Anyone in your situation would be crazy not to be stressed.”

Shiro ran a hand through his hair. “Yup,” he said. He paused, then glanced at Keith. “They asked me if Lance had any friends. That was awkward.”

“What did you tell them?” Keith asked. 

“I said he was complicated.” 

“Oh come on! Shiro! Everyone knows complicated means asshole!” Keith exclaimed, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, what else was I supposed to say? I tried brushing it off on the fact that he’s from New York but I think the detective knew I was bullshitting,” Shiro finished his beer and threw it in the trash can. 

Keith did the same with his own bottle. “Shiro, you know you’re terrible under pressure. There’s no way that detective didn’t know you were bullshitting.”

Shiro groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Didn’t help that she was giving me the stink eye the whole time.”

Keith just patted Shiro’s back and made his way out of the kitchen. “What’s done is done,” he said with a shrug. “Here, help me make up the couch for you so you can at least try to get some sleep before the press conference tomorrow.”

Shiro followed him out of the kitchen, rolling his shoulders and running a hand through his hair. “I hardly get any sleep on normal days. I highly doubt I’m gonna get any sleep tonight.” 

Keith threw a blanket at Shiro’s face and he barely caught it in time. “Just make the fucking bed.” He said, gesturing to the couch in front of him. 

Shiro nodded and began to spread out the blanket. 

Meanwhile, the Shirogane residence was abuzz with activity. Red and blue lights flashed around the neighborhood as cops swarmed the premise like bees in a hive. And standing in the middle of this chaos, coffee in one hand and smartphone in the other, was none other than Detective Pidge Holt herself. 

“We’re gonna run a luminol test in the kitchen, where you found that suspected blood splatter,” some man in a uniform was telling her. 

“Thanks. Let me know the results as soon as you get them,” Pidge said while typing something into her phone. “Oh, also let me know-”

“EXCUSE ME!” 

Pidge was cut off mid-sentence by a shrill voice, and she glanced up to see a young woman with neon pink hair pushing a double stroller with two children in it through the crowds of police officers, her face a mixture of worry and panic. 

“Is it Lance? Did something happen to him? Is he okay?!” The woman nearly shrieked. 

Pidge stepped forward and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ezor! Lance’s best friend!” She said. “Is Lance okay? Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Pidge’s eyes widened as she glanced at Hunk, and saw his expression was identical to hers. Shiro had told them that Lance was ‘complicated’ and didn’t have any friends, yet standing before them was a woman claiming she fit that role.

Like everything else so far about this case, this was weird. 

“I can’t tell you everything right now, but I would love to talk to you in a little bit. Does half an hour work for you?” Pidge asked. 

Ezor nodded furiously. “Yes, that works for me. I live three houses up, at 2334.” Pidge nodded and wrote that down. 

“Great, I’ll see you then,” Pidge said, turning and walking into the house. 

As she passed Hunk, he leaned down and whispered, “No friends, huh?”

Pidge just shook her head and kept walking.


	3. One Day Gone (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In front of a room full of people, Lance’s parents, Keith, and Detective Holt, Shiro fucks up in the worst way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you can tell that this is vallraiene writing the notes rn because 1. my grammar is shit n i don’t use caps and 2. the summary is shit. so eyyy, thanks to those of you who stuck around. i know i promised this around saturday and tbh i don’t know what my excuse is for not publishing it but ye it’s here now. 
> 
> btw so if you saw the movie and are a little confused as to where the random diary entries are coming from, there’s actually a full length version of amy dunne’s diary that we’ve been reading and we’re getting insp from there.

**September 18th, 2011**

It's _about. Damn. Time._

Eight months, two weeks and a couple days later, and he's finally back. Takashi Shirogane, Brooklyn party boy, sugar-storm kisser, disappearing act Takashi Shirogane. 

He told me he lost my cell number. Somehow, his phone ended up going through the washing machine in the pocket of his jeans, and he couldn't save it. He lost everything, all his contacts, and all our texts and photos and everything else. 

(And then, apparently, realized my number had been saved to his cloud in April-ish, but decided it was too late to contact me again. And, work had been too, quote unquote, “overwhelming”, and he didn't have the time.)

That whole time, I'd thought I'd just been thrown away. That he’d fucked me once and set me aside, just like everyone else. I went so many on pointless dates with guys with their thumbs stuck up their asses and girls who were nothing more than gold diggers, desperate to get over Shiro, but I never could. 

And… I guess I'm glad I couldn't?

Let me set the scene. 

Today. I'm walking along Seventh Avenue. The September breeze rushes through my air and sends orange leaves down the sidewalk, rushing past my feet. My mind is elsewhere: I’m making a lunchtime contemplation of the sidewalk Bodega bins- countless containers of cantaloupe and honeydew and melon, perched on ice like the days catch. I hear leaves crunching behind me, and my train of thought leaves me.

I realize I’m being followed, and turn around to confront the intruder. And then I see him. 

Takashi Shirogane.

I don't break my stride, and despite my stubbornness I still break into a smile when I see him. I'm pissed - I _should_ be pissed that he disappeared for so long, but I'm just happy to see him. Instead of snapping at him for being such a cryptid, like I would have with anyone else, I say, “Well, you certainly take your time, don't you Takashi?”

I can't stay mad at him as he takes my hand.

~

**July 6th, 2018**

Shiro awoke to the feeling of something cold being pressed against his forehead. 

Bleary eyes fluttering open, Shiro saw his brother standing above him, pressing a cold can of something on his face. He groaned and reached up to grab the can, before pulling himself into a sitting position. 

“What time is it?” He mumbled, wanting to cry with relief when he realized Keith had given him a can of iced coffee. 

“Nearly 10. The press conference starts at 10:30, so you’re gonna wanna hurry up,” Keith said, walking over to the kitchen as Shiro popped open the can and took a grateful swig. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? I need to shave and take a shower.” Shiro asked, putting the can down and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

Keith shrugged and pulled a carton of eggs out of his fridge. “It’s probably better that you look like you got no sleep last night, which I know you didn’t. Just splash some water on your face and drink your coffee and you’ll be fine. Now, do you want two or three eggs?” 

Shiro glanced up and saw Keith with an egg poised over a glass bowl, and very belatedly realized he was cooking breakfast. “Two’s fine.” 

Keith nodded and cracked some eggs into the bowl. “Just try to wake up enough so you don’t seem like a zombie during the conference, but make sure people can tell you feel like shit.” Shiro nodded at the advice, taking another sip of the heavenly concoction. 

One can of coffee, two eggs, a face wash, and an hour later, Shiro found himself standing in a city conference hall next to his in-laws. 

“Did you two get in an argument or something before he disappeared?” Maria McClain was asking Shiro, wringing her hands in front of her. 

Shiro shook his head. “No. Like I said, I woke up and he gave me some coffee, and we talked a bit about our dinner date that night before I headed out to The Bar. No arguments or anything.” Maria seemed dissatisfied at this answer, but didn’t verbalize it. 

Just then, Pidge walked into the room with Hunk trailing closely behind. “Alright guys, reporters are waiting outside. Just go out, talk about how Lance went missing yesterday morning, and talk about what a great husband and son he is. Got it?” Maria and John nodded, while Shiro muttered a, ‘got it’. 

With Pidge leading the way, the five of them entered into the conference hall, where dozens of reporters stood with cameras and microphones in hand. On the makeshift stage at the front, a sign was propped up with a photo of Lance, along with the number for a tip line beneath. The room was quiet, none of the stereotypical screaming and flashing that Shiro had come to associate with press conferences that you see on TV. He figured it was different for a missing person’s case. 

“Good morning everyone, thank you all for coming,” Pidge began, stepping to the front of the makeshift stage. “I’m Detective Pidge Holt, head of the investigation into the disappearance of Lance McClain-Shirogane. As you can see, we have his husband and his parents here to speak on his behalf, so I’m going to let them take the floor. Shiro, if you will?”

Shiro looked away from the ground and up to Pidge, who was gesturing for him to step forward and speak to the reporters. Taking a deep breath, Shiro walked up, and tried not to focus too much on the blinding lights in front of him and instead focus on what he was saying. 

“Yesterday morning my husband Lance went missing. I don’t know what occurred in our home, as I was out at the time, but the most important thing to me is getting him back. Lance is caring, intelligent, bright, and joyful and I just want him home safe. So please, if anyone has any information about where he could be, please help us. I just want my husband back home.” Short, sweet, and to the point. Preferable considering Shiro was running on hardly any sleep and was just a bundle of nerves. 

Stepping back, Shiro watched as Maria and John took the floor. 

“Like Shiro said, our son is an amazing person,” Maria began, a few camera flashes going off as she spoke. “He is our Lovable Lance, and we want nothing more than to have him home. Any parents out there know the terror of losing your child, and that fear doesn’t go away when your child is grown up. He’s still our boy and this past day has been one of the worst of our lives. So please, we beg you, if you have any information, anything at all, please call this tip line right here. Help us get Lance home.” Maria finished, her voice cracking as John rubbed her shoulders. 

The _click click click_ of cameras taking pictures sounded throughout the room as Shiro was blinded by light. Taking a step further back and closer to the sign, Shiro felt like he should be doing something with his face. Something instead of just standing there with his default smug expression, looking emotionless in the face of one of the worst times of his life. 

In retrospect, Shiro didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps it was because of his lack of sleep from the night before. Perhaps it was from all the stress and anxiety he had been dealing with the past day. Or perhaps it was just because ever since he was little, when he was put in front of flashing cameras there was always only one thing to do. 

Either way, Shiro knew the instant he smiled for the flashing cameras, he had fucked up big time. 

It was only a second, but that second had gotten at least five pictures. Shiro let the smile drop immediately, wondering what the hell he was doing, and looked into the crowd to see Keith standing off to the side, gaping at him with a very confused and slightly horrified expression. Looking over to his in-laws, Shiro saw Maria and John glaring at him, while Pidge and Hunk seemed not to have noticed. 

After that, Hunk came forward and began to rattle off more details about contacting the police with information, while the McClain’s and Shiro filtered off stage. The instant he was off the stage, Shiro made a beeline for Keith, who looked like he wanted to punch his brother. 

“You are an idiot,” Keith hissed as soon as Shiro got close. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You’re at a press conference for your missing husband and you _smile_?!” 

“I- I didn't know what to do! I couldn't just stand there,” He protested. Shiro pushed his hair out of his eyes with his metal arm and sighed deeply. Keith only gaped at him. 

“Shiro, you _stupid fucking-_ ”

“Keith.” Shiro cut him off in a warning tone. Keith shut his mouth. “I know, I messed up. I'm just- I'm stressed, okay? I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do about Lance.”

Keith stared at him blankly, then shook his head. “Well, so far you're not doing a very good job of pretending you're in love with him.”

~

“We have… suspects you should look at, detective,” Maria said, clutching a manilla file to her chest with one hand and biting the skin of the other. When Shiro noticed her trembling, he gently took the file from her and placed it on the table in front of John, two seats over.

Shiro tapped his pen against the table absentmindedly, eyeing at the file. The words “Lance files” were written across the outside in neat, blue sharpie, definitely Maria’s handwriting. The woman always insisted that everything be as close to perfect as possible, and was a bit of a micromanager if Shiro was being honest. She’d basically taken over their lives when they got engaged; she planned their wedding, gave a lot of input on her opinion of their Missouri house, even tried to swap their cat with a different one, because she was scared it would shed too much and ruin Lance’s clothes. 

Shiro could never help but feel uncomfortable in front of Lance's parents, John McClain especially, he was an entirely different story. Sitting next to him across the table from a detective who was watching their every move (and probably thought that Shiro had just murdered Lance) just increased Shiro’s stress tenfold.

John opened the folder and shuffled through photos, notes and documents. “Lance has always attracted a lot of attention, and he's had to deal with a considerable amount of unwanted advances in his lifetime,” John said, earning a hum from Maria. “There have been a few instances where things got…”

“Scary?” Shiro supplied.

“Oh, definitely,” John replied. Pulling a photo out of the folder and setting it in front Pidge, he added, “I'm sure you know how most gay men are, Detective Holt.”

 _That_ was why he didn’t like John McClain. 

Maria looked embarrassed as Shiro and Pidge gave each other pointed looks. Pidge shook her head and pulled the photo towards her so she could get a better look. “And who is in the photo with Lance, exactly?”

“Lotor Sincline,” Maria said quietly. “He was one of Lance's high school boyfriends.”

Shiro looked down at the photo and was met with Lance’s bright smile- even as a teenager he looked happy as ever. He was clinging you the arm of a boy much taller than he was, with long blond hair and ears that almost looked pointed. The boy, presumably Lotor, satisfied sort of smile on his face that was unnerving to no end, and a purple tie hanging from his neck. It was hard to miss the striking resemblance to Lovable Lance’s high school prom date and how the color of her dress matched that of Lotor’s tie. 

“He was messed up, that kid. Attempted suicide after Lance broke up with him sophomore year, and made some threats against his dad, too,” John explained. “Lotor blamed him for pretty much the whole thing.”

Maria nodded. “We had to file a restraining order. He was so insistent on being with Lance, he'd send letters and texts and flowers all the time, and would sometimes come to Lance's window. It was terrifying.”

“He still sends those letters,” Shiro said.

“Fucking hell,” Pidge exclaimed, ignoring the looks from Lance's parents. “So, this was high school… maybe 20 years ago, am I correct?”

“Yes. He's from St. Louis, which is only about two hours out from here,” Shiro added. “He said so in his letters- I've read some of them. He's rather friendly.”

Maria balked at him. " _Mande?_ Surely you mean _creepy?_ ”

Shiro shook his head. “No, I mean friendly. They're usually nothing more than just a greeting card. He just asks how Lance and I are doing, asks about the cat a lot.”

Maria gave him a disapproving stare and Shiro and was thankful when John cut in. “There was also Sven Holgersson, a boyfriend from maybe ten years back. He was very physical when Lance broke up with him. He pressed charges.”

Pidge nodded, scribbling something down in her notebook. “I see. And what were the charges? Battery? Sexual assault?”

“We don't know. All we know is that it was extremely traumatic for Lance,” John replied. Shiro murmured something to himself about not knowing any of this, which Pidge seemed to have caught, because her pen stopped moving. 

“Was there anything that happened recently? In the past couple of years?” She asked, her expression unreadable.

They all knew what she was implying, and the room fell silent.

~

Pidge was only able to walk Shiro and the McClains halfway out of the station before they were swarmed with reporters. Around thirty people were shoving microphones in their faces and taking photo after photo of the five of them, and it was so overwhelming that Shiro froze up almost instantly. John and Maria patiently answered some of the questions while Shiro stood there stupidly.

He’d already messed up with the press once, and had looked bad enough beforehand, so the several, scrutinizing eyes on him at once just made his anxiety spike. After hearing one too many people call out _’Did you kill your husband?’_ , Pidge realized that this would only end badly and with a surprising amount of strength, took Shiro’s arm and dragged him back into the station.

“What was tha-” Shiro began to ask, but the woman cut him off quickly.

“That was me, saving you from making yourself look worse than you already do. You can thank me later,” She replied, folding her arms. Pidge had a weird look on her face, and was fidgeting uncomfortably. “Do you have a minute?”

As soon as Shiro nodded she dragged him by the arm all the way back to her office, ignoring his confusion. Pidge unlocked the door quickly, walked to her desk and picked up an envelope, which she then dropped on the table in front of Shiro.

‘Clue one,’ it read.

“Look at that. We’re working on a puzzling missing person’s case, and what do we stumble upon in your husband’s wardrobe? An envelope labeled clue,” Pidge gave Shiro a pointed look and paced a little as she spoke, then stopped and folded her arms. “The hell’s this?”

“Oh- Lance always liked doing anniversary treasure hunts, and since yesterday it was our fifth-”

“I want to know what it means. I think solving Lance’s treasure hunt could bring us one step closer to figuring out where he is,” Pidge explained. “It’ll help us track his movements before he disappeared. Maybe give us an idea of what he did, who he’d seen, where he could be.”

Shiro looked down at the envelope, then back up at Pidge, and to the envelope again. It took a minute to get over the feeling of the feeling of Pidge’s eyes boring into him, before he finally sighed and picked it up. He tore the seal doubtfully, regretfully, then took out the note and began to read.

“‘Although this spot couldn’t be tighter, it’s a cozy room for my favorite writer.’ I think I know this,” He said, looking back up at Pidge. She shrugged.

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aughhhhh i hate writing in past tense too bad i’m not stubborn
> 
> so i’m gonna be real with you guys we have not started the last chapter and i’m gonna be busy AS FUCK for the next two-ish weeks? so i can’t say for sure when the next chapter will be up, but i swear it’s coming. tbh i’m still so excited about this so it’ll definitely happen. 
> 
> i love talking to y’all so i’d appreciate it if u left a comment! opinions/feedback, good or bad, theories, harrasing me to update, whatever. doesn’t even have to be about the fic. tell me your favorite color if u what. 
> 
> thanks kiddos


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